


A Moving Sea

by LittleObsessions



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types
Genre: Addams Family Values - Freeform, Domination, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Motherhood, Non-Linear Narrative, Praise Kink, Threesome, thedressthough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleObsessions/pseuds/LittleObsessions
Summary: "You're going to call him."Sometimes, her husband has to call the shots.
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Morticia Addams/Other
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	A Moving Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aftenstjerne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aftenstjerne/gifts).



> Thank you to the inimitable midnightlovestories for beta'ing this and cheerleading me to the extent that I blushed.
> 
> This story was directly inspired by Aftenstjerne's 'Cigarette Bitch' story, so this is a gift for her.

* * *

_Love one another, but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls._

**_Khalil Gibran_ **

* * *

“What’s that?”

Gomez points at the slip of paper, creased in the middle, lying open on her dresser.

He picks it up, flicks it open with his hand, and – as she removes her earrings – reads it aloud.

“Call me. 0487-“

He stops reading midway, then throws it back down onto the dresser and, going to the fire, bends to the flames to light his cigar.

She studies him for a moment, watching as he straightens his back and brushes his hand along the mantle. She swallows a smile at the tension curling along his shoulders, holding him rigid.

“Jealous, mon cher?”

He spins on his heels, eyes dark, and she’s surprised by the acceleration from sinister curiosity to outright fury.

After all of the insecurity that’s been lingering in her – a product of motherhood, with all its physical stressors – it’s a pleasant reminder of the unlimited power she exercises over him, in all of its shades and intricacies.

She turns her back to him, speaks into the heavy silence:

“Help me, would you?”

They both know she doesn’t need help with the intricate buttons on the heavy dress, they both know it is, instead, a form of submission.

An apology.

The unwrapping of a gift.

And he does it, his fingers lift her hair to slip it over her shoulder before he trails his fingers down the exposed skin of her neck.

“Will you call him?”

He begins unbuttoning the dress, fingers deft and agile on the small buttons.

His voice is dark, like liquorice and velvet.

She looks at his reflection in the mirror, not sure what she will see there.

His face is hard lines and curiosity, and a hint of something he doesn’t want to be there; desire.

It sends a shock of hunger through her, something she isn’t entirely able to contain as she catches his eye.

“Would you want me to?”

He swallows.

**-0-**

Gomez goes with Fester to bring the car around, and she curls her fur around her shoulders as Debbie excuses herself to the lady’s room. It’s not been an entirely unpleasant evening, but playing Cupid between a tone-deaf man and, what she suspects is, a rather dangerous woman, is much more tiresome than she anticipated.

“Excuse me?”

A voice behind her, smooth as silk and as slippery too, speaks.

She turns, smiles as she comes face to face with the lovely officer from the midst of their tango.

She had almost forgotten about him.

In this lighting he is even younger, and the naked desire to please on his face would be endearing if it weren’t so fulfilling.

And sanguine.

She examines him for a moment; the glistening buttons of his beautiful dress uniform, the sharp white of his shirt, the even sharper lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

He is not merely handsome, he is beautiful. Lean and leonine, slightly taller and less muscular than her husband.

The face and body of a Renaissance painting. All angles and shadows and piercing, intelligent blue eyes.

“Madame,” he offers his hand, and she takes it.

He squeezes her hand within his, and then lifts it to his mouth. His kiss is lingering, full of intent that hasn’t been agreed upon. Similar, she knows, to the way she touched him as she danced with her husband.

He leaves a scrap of rich paper in her curled palm.

His mouth quirks up in a confident smile as he turns to go, and she watches the sharp line of his back recede before he brushes shoulders with her husband, passing the opposite way.

Gomez’s eyes slide over him for a moment, disdain writ plain all over his face, before turning his attention to her.

**-0-**

He pours them both a whiskey, and then pulls her into his lap as he settles in his chair behind his desk. His fingers find the flesh of her thigh, possessive and reassuring. And then he leans over her to pull the Bakelite towards the edge.

She understands it for the instruction it is, taking the slip of paper from him that he had pocketed the evening before and opens it up.

She dials the number in as he strikes up a cigar, thoughtful and far-away looking.

She wonders what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.

It has been a long time since they’ve indulged like this.

_Hello._

The voice is a soft one but masculine, nonetheless.

“Hello,” She pauses for a moment. “We met at the Bistro.”

It’s The Officer’s turn to pause. Perhaps anticipation, perhaps regret.

And older and less confident in the power of herself, she falters.

_How could I forget?_

She smiles and shivers as Gomez’s fingers trail the final inches of skin to the still-tender, already tingling flesh between her legs. His touch is so light that it’s nearly indiscernible, but his mouth finds the sensitive spot behind her ear and she is grateful that her knees aren’t supporting her in order to give way when he begins whispering lascivious, filthy promises to her.

“I would say it would be difficult, but I would…” she struggles to construct the words as Gomez’s fingers press harder, “come across as immodest.”

The man on the other end of the phone laughs.

She lets her legs fall open wider, bracing one against her husband’s antique mahogany writing desk as he moves to slip his fingers inside of her.

“Tell him you want to see him,” he commands softly, kissing her temple as he withdraws his fingers and pushes them in again.

“I would like to see you,” she says into the receiver, her desire to control her body winning over her urge to gasp as her husband’s thumb presses into her clit.

_I would like nothing more. What about your husband?_

She pauses for a moment, looks into her husband’s eyes.

She has never felt more desired, more powerless, more aroused.

It is wonderful for this to be her primary feeling, having spent endless weeks feeling fragile and unsure of herself and tied to the baby, with the occasional, quiet rut in the midst of broken sleep.

The surging recollection of her own desires, her own wants, comes flooding back.

She had almost forgotten.

“He’s…amenable.”

It’s the Officer’s turn to be quiet for a moment on the other end.

 _An open arrangement?_ He asks.

She lets her neck drop back as Gomez’s fingers mercilessly pursue her undoing.

“Something like that.”

**-0-**

He doesn’t answer, but he drops to his knees as he slides the last button from her dress, his lips brushing the flesh at the base of her spine before he slides his hands upwards and pulls the sleeves down her arms, her flesh tingling from his touch.

“I’m not jealous, well not entirely,” he says softly, honestly. “I have always been…aware of your rampant appetite.”

He places his hands on her hips and moves her to spin on the low stool of her dressing table. Her dress is resting, heavy and loose, around the tops of her shoulders and breasts.

He continues his previous movements, sliding her dress down her arms and pulling one sleeve then the other from her wrist. He bunches it at her waist and, reaching up, pulls the materials of the cups of her brassiere down, freeing her breasts from the constraints.

She feels listless and helpless and exposed to his anger and curiosity, and it’s a strange shift in dynamic.

But it is a relief, for the first time in what feels like a painfully long while, to give up her power to something much higher than even her.

He straightens up, his lips trailing along the underside of her breast as he speaks.

“I have, you will recall – on occasion – fed that rampant appetite,” he closes his mouth around her nipple and sucks, and she tenses and grips the edge of her stool as a gasp claws its way out of her throat.

“I recall,” she threads her fingers into his hair, her racing thoughts and Fester’s engagement and all of the other banalities of everyday life receding as all of her nerves suddenly sing with longing, longing for more of him.

For more of this deep, painful scrutiny of her.

“But you liked him,” he states, removing his sinful mouth from her breast and standing.

There is no reprimand in it, but there is something of trepidation.

She looks up at him, and nods.

He smiles; soft, understanding, trusting.

He knows her, as he knows the map of the stars and the table of elements. He knows her as he knows every intonation, every delicious deviation of his mother tongue.

And for a moment she wonders what she did to deserve him.

This much maligned, reputedly caddish, man, who has committed every inch of himself to her in a way she can’t bring herself to fully comprehend.

**-0-**

There are some things even she will not have in her home. And this is one of them. But the view from the suite is unparalleled – reaching across the park and into the dense, sparking city before her. More to the point, the privacy afforded them far outstrips any aesthetic qualities.

And that is what matters here, to her. Discretion. Unfamiliar sheets for an unfamiliar mouth, an unknown body. 

They have done this before.

Its frequency, naturally, has waxed and waned over the course of their marriage.

It was never habitual, because there was something just a little too daring about it, something a little too sacrilegious about indulging too frequently. 

“The suite is beautiful,” the Officer speaks, taking the champagne Gomez offers him.

Morticia does not need to know his name, and does not want it, to know his body. And so, she does not ask.

Gomez doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to.

This is the persona he adopts on the rare occasion they find themselves here; brooding, dark, articulate about his limits, and she loves him for it.

Tonight, he sets the boundaries. She will merely participate.

And she is grateful for it; because she isn’t entirely convinced that she could set them for herself.

**-0-**

He takes her hands in his and pulls her to her feet. The weight of her heavy dress makes it fall, sliding over her hips to puddle at her feet.

“You’re feeling…untethered,” he toes at the garment around her feet, and her eyes are drawn to it.

She knows what he’s implying, all of the feelings ‘untethered’ is supposed to blanket, and he isn’t wrong.

And she is doing her level-best to pretend those things haven’t started to gnaw away at her.

Exhaustion, age, weariness, the needling worry that something has been lost and she won’t be able to recover it.

“Look at me,” he says, voice deep with conviction.

She does as she’s asked, meeting his eyes.

“You are everything.”

She is nothing like him; she requires few words, though he has so many to give, and so when he speaks so purely; stripped of affectations or theatricalities, she knows it to be the very depth of his soul given voice.

**-0-**

The Officer reaches out, his hand caressing her cheek in a similar fashion to the way she had when they had first encountered each other.

“You will listen to me,” her husband addresses the other man, as he steps back, removing his blazer and throwing it over the chair. He unbuttons one sleeve then another and rolls them up his arms. “And I will only make my requests once.”

The Officer turns his fine face to look at her husband as he speaks.

It’s a curious dynamic; this young man, half her husband’s age, and her husband, deft and sure as he shares the one thing in the world that he covets above everything else.

“Listen to me, because…” Gomez comes behind her, and begins unzipping the dress he chose for tonight.

Initially she was dubious about it; unforgiving thin silk, bias cut and fine, restless straps. It has been hiding in her wardrobe for a number of years, consigned to a more confident time.

It was, she has to admit, a relief when it fit over her softer hips and heavier breasts.

“This isn’t an opportunity you want to throw away,” Gomez continues, fingers coming up to pull a thin strap down onto her arm.

The Officer smiles a fine, licentious smile at her.

“Of course it’s not,” the other man agrees, voice deep and dark. “I knew that the minute I laid eyes on her. I assure you; I am very good at taking orders.”

Her confidence isn’t so damaged that she is inclined to believe he’s lying, but it does heal something at the very core of her.

Her husband strips the dress from her body, revealing her breasts and belly and hips and the small triangle of black satin that Gomez argues passes for underwear.

The Officer is watching transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away. He swallows in anticipation as Gomez drops to his knees behind her, hooking his thumbs into the thin ribbons holding her panties on her hips.

“Kiss her,” her husband orders, beginning to pull the material down, and the Officer willingly follows his instructions.

**-0-**

His words wash over her, and there is a moment of quiet as he addresses the silent spectre of what’s been shadowing her.

“Everything,” he says again.

And she literally pounces on him, leaving the puddle of her dress to climb on to him, latching her mouth on to his as he breathes his surprise against her lips.

He carries her back, kicking the stool out of the way and setting her on the small, clear space on her dressing table. He takes the slip of paper in his fingers, aggressively pocketing it.

“I will keep that,” he assures, before capturing her mouth with his again.

She wraps her thighs around his lean hips, pulls him into her so there is no space between their desperate bodies.

“I want you inside of me,” she says, shocked at the urgency in her own voice.

She claws at the zipper of his dress trousers, hands delving into the silk of his boxers. He groans his delight against her mouth as her fingers move his clothes away.

He pushes her thighs apart, tugging at the lace of her panties; making the judicious decision to tear them away rather than waste time on removing them.

She often laments all of the beautiful underwear that has suffered the same fate.

“Gomez please…”

He listens – because he always does – and, clutching her thighs, wraps her legs around his hips and pushes into her.

“Call him,” he says, stilling their bodies as they adjust.

She raises a brow but doesn’t answer. And he moves slowly, driving his length into her so her back presses against the mirror, and then he grips her hips and stares into her eyes.

“You’re going to call him.”

**-0-**

She watches her husband as he circles the bed like a predator, threatening, threatened, yet entirely confident in his position, assured that he is in control. Her eyes are drawn to the hard bulge in his pants and then to The Officer, who is kneeling at the bottom of the bed, his perfectly white shirt lying open to reveal a hewn, pale chest, patiently awaiting instruction. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Her husband asks, coming to stand behind The Officer, the plume of smoke from his cigar swirling towards the ceiling.

The Officer’s eyes move over her in appraisal, his examination long and slow and confident, mirroring Gomez’s.

“Incredibly,” The Officer breathes, and he flexes his fingers as they rest against his muscular thighs.

“You want to touch her,” Gomez says behind him, and then he smiles wryly. “Welcome to my infinite torture. Sometimes, she even lets me.”

She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t need to. But she can’t resist a smile of satisfaction.

“Touch her.”

The Officer moves swiftly, keen to do exactly as he is told, his fingers tracing up her calves as he stretches out to trace the length of her legs, his fingers light – not unexperienced – as they trail their path, leaving shivers in their wake. He climbs up her body, questing fingers first, the rest of him following, until his weight is on top of her entirely.

Gomez moves to take a seat in the armchair beside the bed, watching intently.

His ability to reserve himself always shocks her, though she has witnessed it countless times. And it means a great deal to her too.

“Her neck,” he says into the heated silence. “Kiss it.”

The Officer’s lips are cool and soft, his shaven face a contrast to the face she is used to. But it is nonetheless skilled.

She turns her face as The Officer begins devouring the sensitive flesh of her neck and looks at her husband.

He is powerful looking; enrobed in a cloud of smoke, his face studious and dark.

And committed to this, to her pleasure.

“Lower,” Gomez orders, sitting back.

She curls her fingers into The Officer’s brown hair, gasps as his mouth moves downwards and closes around a stiff nipple.

“Is he good, cara mia?”

The Officer lifts his head, awaiting her appraisal as he looks into her face.

“Very,” she smirks, tugging at his hair gently, pleased with his grin of delight at her modest praise.

Gomez stands, comes to the edge of the bed and reaches down and kisses her; hot and bruising, the taste of cigars and wine. The delicious familiarity of his tongue in her mouth.

She adores that tongue.

“Would you like to taste her?”

He looks up at the other man.

“Yes,” The Officer answers quickly, keenly.

“Voulez-vous que?” Gomez asks against her lips, his hand coming to grasp her breast, twisting her nipple in his thumb and forefinger.

“Oui,” she whispers.

He withdraws and stands back.

“Make her come…hard,” he commands, and then leans against one of the posts of the bed as the young man moves between her legs.

**-0-**

“I was very serious,” he says after a moment, as they lie in the basking afterglow of the most satisfying sex she’s had since before the baby, in the safety and warmth of their bed. 

“Hmmm?”

Sleep is close to claiming her, and she is grateful for the peace she feels. She can even forget that Fester and Debbie are engaged, which feels uncomfortably complicated, or that the children feel so far away it makes her want to weep, or that she feels like she doesn’t belong in her own skin.

“The Officer, you’re going to call him,” he says, as if it’s already decided.

“Am I?” She asks, half- flippant, half asleep.

“Yes, and I’m going to let him fuck you.”

His tone of voice is entirely serious.

“Are you?”

She’s awake now.

“You want to,” he says gently, soberly. “And I want to watch.”

She laughs softly, because she can’t deny it, and while it had never occurred to her to act on her attraction – it never would – it would be underhand to pretend it wasn’t there.

Her husband is not stupid.

“So tomorrow, we will call him.”

**-0-**

The Officer is skilled with his tongue, and her body curls– against its own will – off the bed as he swirls his tongue over her clit, as his fingers dig into the quivering flesh of her thigh. He’s more reticent though, by virtue of the fact he doesn’t know her body as her husband does.

But it is an impressively valiant effort.

“You taste amazing,” he lifts his lovely face up from between her legs, his lips and chin glistening in the soft lighting.

“Doesn’t she?” Gomez asks, and it is the first time this evening that his voice has been hungry.

It makes the muscles in her gut clench, hearing such thick desire in her husband’s voice, and witnessing his restraint.

It’s a heady combination.

The Officer nods, keenly, and returns to his task, trailing his tongue over her flesh before centring on her clit and flattening it maddeningly against her.

“Use your fingers,” Gomez says directly, and she can’t help but moan as The Officer does exactly what he’s told.

“She loves that,” her husband says, and Morticia opens her eyes – using all the energy she can muster – and looks at him, trying to convey every ounce of her gratitude in one look.

From his smirk, he’s rather pleased with himself.

She gives herself over to the delight surging through her, tightening her muscles and setting her nerves alight as the stranger between her legs works her to the blissful edges of her body, to the place that feels ethereal and intense. Her orgasm shudders through her, announcing itself in an unrestrained howl, carried on hard and gasping breaths as it courses through her.

She arches off the bed, watches her husband as he looks on, and there is something mesmerising in the way he is fixated on the scene before him. On the way his fists pulse open and close with jealousy and loathing and desire.

And it tightens her already aching muscles, her singing blood, and makes her cry out again and clutch The Officer’s hair as his ministrations force another orgasm through her body.

He gentles her down – and that is the word for him, gentle and studious and serious about his pursuit of her pleasure – as the wave continues to ripple across her flesh and into her bones, and she clutches the sheets to tether herself to something, anything.

There is silence for a moment as he sits back on his heels, swipes his hand across his mouth and grins down at her; all mussed hair and boyish charm and delight.

She smiles languidly up at her officer. Then Gomez moves from where he has been standing and threads his fingers with hers, urging her up on to her knees with one hand, holding her champagne in the other.

**-0-**

“Your outfit for this evening is hanging in your dressing room,” he says as he comes into their bathroom.

She rests a leg on the edge of the bath, slides deeper into the copper and heat. And he stops at his sink to begin filling it with warm water, readies his shaving brush with the woody, dark smelling soap that she so loves on his fresh-shaven skin.

They are silent for a moment, and she feels nerves biting at her and she isn’t entirely sure this is as good an idea as it was ten years before.

“He’s about to die and go to heaven,” Gomez says casually, as he brushes the lather on to his skin, so casually it catches her off guard.

It saves her from having to say anything, from having to seek out reassurance, and she’s grateful for that.

He turns and looks at her, a wicked grin painting his face.

“Or hell,” he laughs. 

**-0-**

She turns to look at her husband, divested of his shirt and tie, as he offers her a glass of champagne. She takes it thirstily, listless and parched from the intensity of her orgasm. As she drinks, Gomez’s hand comes up to rest at the base of her skull, threads upwards through her hair.

“Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it darling?” He asks, squeezing gently.

There’s something punishing about the touch, degrading and delightful and rare in the way he is commanding her full attention, her submission.

“Yes,” she says, keeping the yearning from her voice as she eyes up the impressive bulge in The Officer’s pants.

He begins unbuttoning them, but Gomez holds up a hand between them.

“Let her do it.”

Morticia turns to her husband and cups his face and kisses him, hard and desperate. He indulges her for a moment, and she can’t help but wonder what he intends as the climax of this entire operation.

“We have a guest cara mia,” he reminds softly, pulling away from their kiss. “And he’s been very patient, in spite of the fact I am sure he’s desperate for that very willing mouth.”

She eyes The Officer. There is barely contained desperation thrumming in every inch of his body, and she wants to taste his pale, aristocratic body. Those muscles hewn from marble.

“Stand,” she says, and he does as he’s asked, climbing off the bed as Gomez steps away from them to take his place as a spectator, but not before he grabs a cushion from the chair and drops it on the plush carpet.

“My wife rarely enjoys being on her knees, but she’ll make an exception, I am sure, for you.”

The Officer has a hard time containing his smile as she bends gracefully to kneel on the cushion. He combs his lean fingers through her hair as she deftly unbuttons his dress trousers and pulls them down, with his underwear, where he kicks them away.

His body is foreign to her, but hard and smooth and beguiling and she begins by ghosting her lips over his tense thighs. She works her mouth towards his groin, and he begins to tremble as her lips draw nearer to his eager cock.

“She’s a tease,” her husband says, close behind her, then his hand comes to rest on the crown of her head. “Enjoy.”

She takes The Officer between her teeth, and he groans and his head lolls back and it’s delightful to feel his pleasure as he rocks softly into her mouth.

It’s a novel new pace, for someone to assume her tenderness and to treat her as if she’s porcelain.

She would murder Gomez for treating her like that, but The Officer’s precocious softness is appealing. She grips his buttocks and consumes the length of him, and he tastes clean and unfamiliar and warm.

“Very skilled,” Gomez mutters, and she can hear the envy – tight and sore – in his words.

The Officer shudders as she returns her mouth to the tip, and she is more assertive this time, trusting now that he can handle it. Within minutes he is growling his desperation into the white heat of the encounter, and he grips her hair and begins moving in her mouth with abandon.

“Irresistible,” Gomez’s voice comes from somewhere behind them, and then a more decisive: “Not in her mouth.”

The Officer withdraws, a sigh of frustration stuttering out of him, conditioned to follow orders to a degree Morticia thinks even she’d find challenging, and steps back from her.

“Turn around cara mia,” he continues and though her legs are weak and her desire for completion is mounting, she follows her instructions. “Come to me.”

She could stand, but she thinks he deserves some measure of recompense for his unwavering patience in the face of something which could, otherwise, feel incredibly insulting to him.

And he deserves a taste of what he has made her feel tonight.

So she begins to crawl towards him, her knees rustling softly along the carpet.

He growls his delight, takes his cock in his hand, and it is a vision of masculinity she wants to imprint on her brain.

Her world, in that moment, is focussed simply on reaching him and touching him and reassuring herself he is real, because his behaviour is, arguably, saintly.

When she reaches her husband, she pushes his hands away and then uses his knees to brace herself to stand.

“Climb on,” he pulls her towards him, and she does as he asks, straddling his thighs, their joining familiar and delightful and fulfilling in a way she can’t quite describe. He holds her in place, sucks in a breath which suggests he’s far less in control than he appears.

“Come here,” he says to The Officer, who does exactly as he’s told as he moves to stand beside them, his cock jutting out into the space between them.

And then Gomez thrusts upwards, and the suddenness of it, the painful delight of it, shocks her into motion.

“She’s magnificent,” Gomez says through gritted teeth as she begins to move with abandon, wild and confident and loving the intense scrutiny from The Officer, who’s watching her and only her. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” the young man breathes emphatically, and she is so pleased by his unabashed desire, want, that she reaches for his cock and takes it in her mouth and Gomez howls his approval and pushes her hips more urgently, lifting her up and down.

“Don’t…let him…” her husband grunts each word out, “come yet.”

She pulls away, smiles apologetically up at The Officer – who is patient enough to know he will be well rewarded, though his frustration is evident too – and encourages him down for a kiss.

It is more urgent this time, his mouth demanding and desperate. It thrills her to the core; his waning self-control in the face of her body. His youthful desire to please.

“Beautiful, powerful,” her husband’s hands roam her body, hard on her breasts, her neck, her ribs and hips, “enchanting, demonic. Isn’t she?”

The Officer’s kiss is unrelenting and intense, and Gomez’s thrust unforgiving, and when Gomez’s fingers slide between them to circle her clit, she grips The Officer’s neck and moans her pleasure into his mouth.

“Watch her come,” Gomez growls, and The Officer retreats immediately to do as he’s asked.

She is lost now, to an abandon that is both strange and wonderful, and her movements are reflexive as opposed to a choice as her husband guides her hips up and down rhythmically.

“Magnificent,” Gomez growls, and the force of desire in his voice is wondrous and savage and feral.

“Come for him,” The Officer suddenly says, demanding. “For me.”

So she does, and her husband roars and pushes up once more, coming hot and hard inside of her.

She falls listlessly against his chest, sobbing her completion as she lies against the warm, familiar planes of his body.

There is no respite.

He squeezes her buttocks, delivers a gentle smack, and lifts her up and away slightly from his body.

“No rest for the wicked,” he whispers gently, and glances up at the other man.

She’d almost forgotten.

The Officer takes that as his permission and scoops her up easily, as if she weighs nothing, and carries her to lay her on the bed and moves over her.

It is, she thinks philosophically, like being reborn. 

**-0-**

“To my wife,” her husband says to the dining room at large. The fire is roaring, the food was delicious, the wine even more so.

Her dress is tight and thin, and her husband approves. He would never say publicly, of course, but he has been eyeing her hungrily all evening.

And she knows he will be loquacious when they are finally alone.

It’s a small party; Fester and Debbie, of course, Margaret and Itt. Gomez’s old friend Williamson. Her mother.

As crass as it is to make this, an impromptu engagement dinner about her, she’s going to let him for a moment.

“A woman who knows how to ask her husband for what she wants,” he says, holding up the wine she selected from the cellar in the afternoon, and winking.

She smiles and quirks a brow.

“May your marriage be as successful as ours.”

And the entire party toasts something they can’t possibly understand.


End file.
